


The Life that's Chosen Me

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Character, Blind Reader, Blindness, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Disability, Disabled Character, Disabled Reader, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Feelings, Feels, Female Reader, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 13:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13705884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: Two people couldn’t be more different; he was a super soldier that just turned 100, she was a blind woman that worked as an editor.Bucky was just doing his job, working with the Avengers, saving the city from destruction. It was just one mission and she was just one woman. But for some reason, Bucky was drawn to her.You were blinded as a teenager, the direct result of falling off a horse, and hitting your head on the ground. After being saved from a crumbling building, you found yourself drawn to your savior, the man that pulled you free at the last possible second.





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky could hear her anguished cries for help from half a mile away. “Come on,” he ground out, his fist flying through the air as he took out yet another HYDRA agent. The building Bucky was trying to get to had fallen almost five minutes ago amidst the war raging on the streets of Brooklyn. As hard as he and the rest of the team were working, the enemies just kept coming.

There was a sudden break in the action and without thinking, Bucky hollered for Wanda, who was on the street below. “Just like we practiced.”

Wanda caught Bucky with her powers as he launched himself off the bridge. She carried him over to the destroyed building and through a glassless window on the thirteenth story. He rolled out of the surge of red-hued power, shoving up from the slanted floor without missing a beat.

He stood there for a moment, listening to the protesting creaks and groans of concrete and metal, trying to pinpoint the injured woman’s location. “Come on,” he repeated his earlier frustration as he forced himself to take deeper breaths. She was there, she had to be.

“Please,” she begged from below. “I’m down here.”

“I’m comin,” Bucky snarled as he tore off, stomping on bits of rubble that tried to send him into the wall. He launched himself through a hole in the floor, landing gracefully on his feet, his fists raised, ready to strike down anyone that stood in his way.

There was a loud scrape off to his left as the building shifted that set his teeth on edge. The building was going to come down sooner rather than later, and if he didn’t find her and save her, it would be one more innocent life that he couldn’t rescue, one more burden to carry. Redemption was a long and dangerous road, and he had just gotten started.

Her voice was shrill when she yelled, “Over here, please!” There she was, in the farthest corner, under a pile of rubble, her hand extended, waving back and forth frantically.

“I’m here,” he assured her as he grabbed her hand.

* * *

Steve clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You did good, Buck.”

Bucky gave a tight-lipped smile. “Did I?”

“What do you mean? You went into a building that was on its last leg and you saved someone,” Steve argued, sliding a bottle of beer across the table.

The glass  _clinked_  on Bucky’s metal hand as it nestled into his palm. “I know.”

Sitting next to Bucky, Steve took a long pull of the beer that would never make him drunk. “It takes a little getting used to it.”

“Used to what?” he gruffed.

“Saving people. Especially given what you’ve been through.”

“Gonna hit the showers, punk.” With a roll of his eyes, Bucky tossed his head back as he drained the bottle in three greedy swallows. He pushed away from the table with a heaving sigh.

* * *

Long after the dirt and grime had spiraled down the drain, Bucky stood under the stream of hot water. It felt good on the tight muscles in his neck and between his shoulder blades, but it felt like heaven on the scars where metal met flesh. The vibranium arm had been a part of him for the last seventy, eighty years, but the scars still looked fresh. They were puffy and red, angry, glaring at him in the mirror, reminding him of the horrors he had committed, of the people he had slaughtered without a second thought, of the lives he had destroyed, all because he had been too weak to withstand the probing and brainwashing.

Growling, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Doing his best to avoid the mirrors that had been hung in the compound locker room, Bucky quickly dried off and threw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Emblazoned on the front was the name of some rock and roll band Steve had taken an interest in, a band that Tony said he could get to stop by for a party one night.

Several hours later, he was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind going a million miles a minute. Nighttime was the worst time for Bucky. He had the hardest time sleeping, and when he did manage to fall asleep, his subconscious decided to dredge up every gritty detail of a random mission he had ‘accomplished’ during his time with HYDRA. The nightmares were always different, yet they were the same. Different people, places, and times, spanning across decades, but they held the same outcome; a gruesome scene of blood and gore, another life - or two - lost.

It was the screams that inevitably woke Steve, it was also those very same screams that earned Bucky a room at the farthest end of the compound. Even though everyone did their best to include Bucky in anything and everything they did, he still felt like an outcast, locked away where he couldn’t hurt anyone, where no one could hear his cries of agony, his shouts of apology, but it was the screams that chilled his best friend to the core.

Bucky found himself wanting to find out what happened to the woman he had saved. She had clung to him, weeping openly, unashamed of the tears that streaked through the soot on her face. She thanked him countless times as he carried her to safety, her face buried in his chest, arms wrapped around his neck, her tears hot on his skin as they slid under the gear he wore.

He hadn’t gotten her name, nor did he know which hospital she had been taken to. He just handed her off to the closest EMT and jumped back into the fray, helping his friends save the city he had been born in almost a hundred years ago.

* * *

“‘Bout time you show your mug,” Tony joked at the sight of Bucky making his way into the common room.

“Can it, Stark,” Bucky bit back, a scowl set deep in his forehead.

Tony snorted as he poured the super soldier a cup of coffee. “Someone’s touchy this morning.”

Steve cut Tony down with a glare. “You get any sleep?” he asked even though he already knew the answer.

Bucky’s vibranium shoulder bobbed. “Couple’a hours,” he lied. The more sleep he said he got, the less Steve ragged on him.

“Hey, Tone,” he rasped, knowing damn well Tony hated that nickname. “You uh, you hear anything about that woman from yesterday?”

“Oooo,” Tony smiled wide. “Someone’s got a crush.”

“Fuck off,” Bucky snapped. He ignored the coffee Tony had poured and strode across the room, out the door, and down to the range.

* * *

Bucky’s idea of target practice was chucking blades at a series of crudely-drawn red circles on the wall. Each knife sank into the wood with an almost silent  _thunk_ , driven by just enough force so the blade was completely hidden.

He knew he needed to let Tony’s words roll off him, to not let them scratch their way under his skin, settling there, driving Bucky crazy until he wanted to scream. Tony meant well, he really did; at least, that’s what Steve said. Bucky tried to give Tony the benefit of the doubt, he had killed the elder Starks, afterall; it was the least Bucky could do.

Even an hour later, Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to find out more about her, the woman he had saved. Maybe it was because she was his first survivor since being deprogrammed, maybe it was because she smelled nice under all the sweat and soot, or maybe it was because he liked the way it felt to hold someone, to have someone hold him in return.

* * *

Steve set a piece of paper in front of Bucky. “Third floor,” he said.

“What?” He picked up the sheet and stared at his friend’s writing. It was her name; last, first, middle initial, and the room number she was in.

“Visiting hours are over and security is pretty lax, so you should have no problem getting in to see her.”

Bucky shook his head in confusion. “How did you -”

“I told ya,” Steve chuckled. “Tony means well. You just gotta say please.”

* * *

It was the constant beeping that woke you. Not the blood pressure cuff squeezing bruises onto your arm every forty-five minutes, or the nurse opening your eyelids and unnecessarily sweeping the penlight back and forth several times, or the cold hands of the doctor as they pressed into your belly. All of those, while annoying as hell, were a sign that you were alive, that you had survived. Again.

You weren’t supposed to be there; it was Sunday, your God-appointed day of rest, but there were a few last minute details that you needed to wrap up. Nothing major, really; some grammatical changes on a book you were editing. In hindsight, they could have waited, and now that the building you had worked at for the last five years lay in rubble, they would now wait for an undetermined amount of time.

Sighing heavily, you pushed the button that slowly raised your bed, settling you into a semi-sitting position. Every muscle should have screamed in protest, but the burn of morphine through your bloodstream was doing its job.

You took the time to do a self-evaluation, moving one thing at a time, seeing if anything was broken or severely injured. First your fingers, then each wrist, arm, and shoulder. Next, you moved your toes, feet, ankles, and legs. It was a slow process, but everything moved as it should, or close enough to it, and you weren’t wearing any casts or slings. The last thing you checked was your face. You ran your fingers delicately over your features, hissing at the bite of a line of stitches along your cheekbone. One of your eyes was swollen and there was a small cut in your eyebrow, but other than that, you were in one piece.

Happy with the results, you settled back into the thin pillow with a small sigh. Damn, you could use another one, or three. You weighed the options of getting out of bed and finding your way across the room, or pressing the call button. Knowing how much trouble you would be in if you tried doing it on your own, you were about to press it when there was a soft shuffling noise in the far corner of your room.

“Who’s there?” you gasped. A breathy curse fell from someone’s lips, and a moment later, whoever it was cleared their throat.

“It’s me,” he said, voice like sandpaper. He sounded familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it.

With your eyes narrowed, you shifted nervously. “Me, who?”

His feet shuffled on the floor as he walked across the room, stopping at the end of your bed. “My name is James, I uh, I’m the one that saved you.”

* * *

God, he felt so fucking awkward standing there, telling her that he had saved her life. He hoped he didn’t sound like some pompous ass, chest puffed out, expecting praise and adoration.

Her eyes went wide and she slapped a hand against her chest. “Are you really? Oh, God, thank you,” she said.

Bucky never knew what to say in response to that.  _’You’re welcome, no problem, it’s what I do?’_  He smiled tightly and watched as tears filled her eyes. “Are… are you okay?”

“I… yeah,” she sniffled, gently wiping away the wayward tears as they fell. “I’m just… shocked, I guess. How… how did you find me?”

“I just… I asked around.” And he sounded like a stalker, fucking great. He scraped a hand over his face and groaned softly.

“Do you um, wanna sit down, or do you have someone else’s life to save?” She laughed low in her throat at her own joke, a joke that made Bucky wince.

He shrugged and shuffled his feet. He wanted to sit down, talk with her, get to know her, to try and figure out why he was so drawn to her, but he felt like he was overstaying his already unsolicited visit.

“I would like it if you stayed,” she added quickly, her fingers tangling together nervously in her lap.

“Yeah?” he asked shyly, a stupid blush coloring his cheeks. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

She waved a hand through the air. “I can handle a little bit of trouble.”

Wearing a dopey smile, Bucky grabbed a chair and set it next to the bed, dropping into it a moment later. Even though they had been talking for several minutes and he had already given her his name, he held out his hand. He then watched in confusion as she extended her hand in greeting, but it was slightly to the left of his.

“Hi James, I’m Y/N,” she smiled.

“Nice to meet you,” he mused as he closed the space between their hands, grasping hers gently.


	2. Chapter 2

“How’d your little date go last night?” Tony joked, wiping a rag over his sweaty face.

Bucky huffed in irritation. “Button it, Stark,” he warned, his eyes dark. He had gotten back to the compound just as everyone else was rolling out of bed, ready to hit the gym.

Tony held up his hands in defense. “Come on, tin man,” he pressed. “You were out all night, and I don’t even get a little bit of dirt?”

Steve jabbed Tony in the side. “Leave him alone.”

With a roll of his eyes, Tony conceded. “Don’t think you’ve won, wonder twins,” he laughed, strolling away a moment later.

“Does he ever stop?” Bucky asked seriously.

“Should’a seen him when he was a kid,” Steve answered, then the realization of his words hit him like a ton of bricks. “Ah, Buck, I didn’t think.”

“No, it’s fine,” he lied. Barely hiding a yawn, he drug a towel over his face and up into his hair.

Steve launched a bottle of water at his friend, who caught it without looking. “How is she?”

The bottle was drained and tossed into the recycling five seconds later. “She’s… good, I think.”

“You think?” Steve asked, confusion evident on his brow. “Either she’s good or she’s not.”

Bucky gave a jerk of his head and headed out of the gym, finding a corner away from prying eyes and ears. “She was smiling and laughing, seemed in good spirits, all things considered.”

“All things considered? What are you talking about?”

“I think she’s blind,” Bucky admitted.

Steve stared at his friend for a heartbeat. “That’s it?” he said dryly.

“Well… I mean…” Bucky stammered, shifting on his feet, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I didn’t ask her if she was.”

“Okay, so… why do you think she is?” Steve kept his voice calm since the last thing Bucky needed right then was to feel like his best friend wasn’t on his side.

With a sigh, Bucky drug a hand through his hair. “She went to shake my hand, but… she put it over here,” he answered, showing Steve exactly what had happened.

“Buck… if she is blind, it’s… it’s not your fault. I mean, you know that, right?” Steve grasped his friend’s shoulder and gave it a rough squeeze.

“It took a while before I could get there,” he argued, fully intending to add another burden onto his already overloaded shoulders.

Steve shook his head and firmly gripped Bucky’s other shoulder. “No, don’t do that. You can’t go down that road, Buck, okay? If Y/N is blind and it is a result of what happened, it’s not something that you could have prevented. It’s not another thing that you feel like you need to atone for. What’s done is done.”

Bucky pulled in a deep breath through his nose. “What’s done is done,” he agreed.

“Now,” Steve smiled and clapped Bucky on both shoulders. “You should go see her again, maybe ask her a few questions, one of them being if she’s blind or if it’s all in your head.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky failed to hide a smirk. “Whatever, punk.”

“You know I’m right, jerk.”

* * *

“So… I know this is a weird question,” James started, moving to sit on the edge of the chair, “and feel free to tell me I’m out of line or kick me out.”

You swallowed at the knot of unease in your throat. James had shown up, the same as the night before, seemingly out of nowhere, after visiting hours were long over, and without an escort. Like a bloodhound, you could smell the bag full of contraband Thai food he had thankfully smuggled in.

“I’m an open book, James,” you answered, hoping he couldn’t hear the tremor in your voice.

“Okay,” he said around a bite of pad thai, extra spicy. “Are you… um… did the… when I pulled…”

Chuckling gently, you dropped your hand to his. “Slow down, breathe, pick a question, and go with it.” With his hand twitching under yours, pushing into your thigh, he followed your instructions.

“Are you blind?” Well, that wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the scenarios that scurried through you mind.

“I am,” you answered.

You could hear the hesitation and guilt in his voice. “And… is it because of -”

“No, James,” you interrupted, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “I’ve been blind since I was fifteen.”

He blew out a breath that pushed through your hair. “Thank God,” he murmured. “I mean… I didn’t… shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and God, it felt good. “It’s okay, I promise.”

“Yeah?” was his breathy question. “I feel like such a buffoon.”

Patting his hand, you turned your attention back to the glass noodle stir fry. “I wish you wouldn’t,” you said.

“What happened?” When you didn’t answer straight away, he cleared his throat. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I get it,” he added quickly, giving you an easy out.

Everyone did that, gave you a way to opt out of answering any kind of question that dealt with your disability, but you never took it. Talking about it wasn’t easy by any means, it brought back a surge of memories you’d rather live without. No one ever said living was easy. And if they did, they’re doing it wrong.

You took a long drink of water before answering. “We lived out in the country, had a farm with lots of animals; cows and horses mainly. I was helping my dad with the cattle, rounding up a bunch he had just sold; it wasn’t anything I hadn’t done before.”

_God, it was hot. The sun was high and beating down on you mercilessly, had been for the last six hours. You wanted to get the cattle rounded up, go inside, and take a cold shower. As if they could sense your impatience, several of the steers were putting up a fuss, stomping their hooves, snorting, rearing back with you in their sights._

_Patches, the aging blue and grey cattle dog, gave a commanding bark and nipped at their legs, reminding them who was really in charge of things on the farm. The steers begrudgingly fell into line, behaving as much as their stubbornness would allow._

_The last bovine, a brown and white older bull, was about to get on the trailer when your pain-in-the-ass little brother came running out of the house, screaming at the top of his lungs; something about life not being fair and how he hated your mom. The bull snorted and bucked, surging against the iron rails on either side of him. He was mad as hell, and he was doing whatever it took to get free._

_Acting on instinct - and following the lead of your father - you grabbed the rope that hung on the saddle and started spinning it, readying it to throw over the bull’s neck. Your father was on the other side, doing the same, and at his sharp whistle, the pair of you launched your ropes in rapid succession._

_After that, it was complete chaos._

“I don’t remember falling,” you sighed. Sniffling loudly, you shook your head. “The pressure from hitting my head was severe enough to do irreparable damage to the optic nerves.”

James’ hand was on your thigh, heavy and warm through the thin hospital blankets. “I… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured honestly. “I accepted long ago that being blind doesn’t define who I am as a person. I can do just about everything you can do. You just happen to have sight on your side.”

There was a change in the air between you, thicker than before, as if there were something he wanted to tell you, but he was afraid. He chuckled low in his throat when you dropped your hand onto his.

“You can talk to me, James,” you guaranteed him gently. “I mean… if you… if you want to.”

“I want to,” he said quickly, his tongue stumbling over the words. You sat there, holding his hand, smiling in what you hoped was a reassuring manner, waiting until he was comfortable enough to say whatever was troubling him.

Several long minutes passed before he finally found his voice. “I uh, I fought in the war… and… I lost my left arm.”

“Oh, James,” you gasped. “I had no idea.” You couldn’t explain it, but you wanted to wrap your arms around him and hold him.

He cleared his throat and sat back, sliding his hand away from yours. “They got me a new arm, even better than the old one.” His words seemed forced, as if he were hiding behind them, keeping the truth to himself, and burying it beneath years of resentment and anger.

You felt bad for pushing him to talk about it, and you were just about to apologize when the chair screeched on the floor as he stood.

“I should go, it’s late,” he blurted, an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint lacing his words.

You untangled your legs as you moved to stand from the bed. “James, I -”

He dropped a hand to your shoulder, halting the small amount of momentum you had. “Rest, Y/N,” was the last thing he said.


	3. Chapter 3

With a growl, Bucky slammed the door behind him, sending it bouncing off the frame and into the wall. The knob got stuck in the plaster, which only made Bucky even angrier. He went to wrench it from the wall when a familiar voice cut through the haze of disappointment and frustration.

“Perhaps some time on the range will help,” FRIDAY offered, an authoritative edge to her voice.

Bucky’s vibranium hand twitched as it fell to his side. “Sorry,” he grumbled sincerely. “I didn’t mean -”

“It’s alright, Sergeant Barnes,” she cooed. “It will be fixed before anyone notices.”

“Before anyone notices what?” Steve asked, eyes flicking over Bucky’s face.

“Nothing,” FRIDAY and Bucky answered at the same time. In spite of the raging frustration in his chest, Bucky chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“What are you doin’ up so late, old man?” Bucky asked, completely changing the subject.

Steve barked out a laugh. “I could say the same thing for you, jerk. So… how’d it go?”

Bucky didn’t answer, not straight away. He groaned low in his throat and rolled his eyes. “It was fine.”

“Uh huh, right. Is that why you look like you wanna beat the shit outta someone?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” was his clipped answer.

“Buck, I’m not some guy you just met,” Steve argued, eyes dark, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m your best friend. Talk to me.”

Bucky ripped off the black leather glove that hid his vibranium from plain sight, and held it in the space between the two friends. “This, alright. I told her about…  _this_.”

The vibranium arm was an upgrade, no questions asked, but it wasn’t  _his_  arm. No, he had lost that when he fell off the bullet train back in the ‘40’s. There were times where he wanted it gone, wanted one of Tony’s many surgeons to remove it, melt it down, make something useful out of it, something that wasn’t a threat to all of humanity. He felt tainted, dirty, like he was someone’s puppet. Goddamn it, he just wanted to feel normal.

Bucky didn’t wait for Steve to say something positive or reassuring, he couldn’t listen to it, not tonight. With his jaw clenched, he strode out of the room, down the maze of halls, and into his room. He was still frustrated, angry, full of self-loathing, but this time, when he shut the door, he was careful.

* * *

Sleep was an evasive bastard after James left. You tossed and turned, but couldn’t get comfortable no matter how many different positions you worked yourself into. You kept replaying the conversation with James over and over, until you wanted to tear open your head and rip out your brain, dissect the grey matter and pull out the bits of your anxiety that wouldn’t let you sleep.

You felt bad for asking him to talk about something he clearly didn’t want to, not to a near complete stranger, that is. The two of you had only known each other for two days, and that was only because he had risked his life to save yours. You had no idea why were you feeling like there was something  _more_  there, something just beneath the surface, something broken, shattered beyond repair, something that you wanted to get your hands on and see if you could fix. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t your… mess to mend. It was James’, and if he wanted to expose that part of himself, he would, but not a minute before.

With a heaving sigh, you covered your eyes with your forearm, working hard to ignore the jolt of pain that shot through you when you hit the bruise on your face. You forced yourself to think about something other than James, or the way his voice broke when he started to talk about himself, the edge of self-loathing that was there, but it wasn’t working.

You were about to get out of bed, take a shower, try and relax, when the phone rang. It took almost thirty seconds for you to untangle the cord enough to answer.

“Hello?” you rasped, your throat having gone dry.

“Y/N, is that you?” James gruffed. Even through the phone, you could hear the exhaustion clinging to his words.

You couldn’t explain the smile that pulled at your lips. “James, I’m glad you called. I want to apologize for earlier. I didn’t -”

“No, don’t,” he murmured. “Don’t apologize, please.”

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you snuggled into the pillow, surprised at how comfortable you suddenly were. “Are you alright, James?”

He pulled in a shuddering breath before answering. “Right as rain, doll. Right as rain.”

You didn’t believe him, but you weren’t about to tell him that. Rather, you changed the subject. “They’re releasing me tomorrow.“

“So soon?” He sounded surprised. “I mean, are you ready for that?”

“Nothing’s broken and I don’t need surgery, so, yeah,” you chuckled. “Besides, I’m going a bit stir crazy in here.”

“Who’s coming to get you, a uh… a boyfriend?” James stammered.

You laughed richly at that. “No, don’t have one of those. I’m just going to take a cab home.”

“I could, uh… I can pick you up. You know, if that’s…. if that’s okay.” God, he was adorable when he stammered.

“You sure, James? I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Trust me, doll,” he murmured low in his throat. “You’re not an inconvenience.”

You didn’t give it another thought. “I’d like that.”

“Good, it’s settled.”

“Any time after noon,” you hummed happily.

James gave a grunt of acknowledgement and you could hear the squeak of a mattress through the phone as he shifted. “So… feel free to say no, but I kind of have a weird request.”

You waited until you were done yawning before saying, “I think we are past the weird request phase.”

“I guess you’re right,” he chuckled. “Can we uh, just stay here, on the phone? We don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to, or we can talk until the sun comes up. I just… I can’t explain it, but uh, I’m more relaxed now than I’ve been in a long time,” he admitted, the words flowing out of him like water from a broken dam.

“Yeah,” you quickly agreed. “I’d like that.”

* * *

Wearing a black baseball cap and the collar of his jacket obscuring the lower half of his face, Bucky hurried into the hospital at one minute after noon. He felt stupid, rushing in, hoping no one would notice him, recognizing him, and start vying for his attention; be it positive or negative. A part of him felt like he was back on the lam, hiding in plain sight, but then the reason for his visit made it a little easier, soothing the anxieties in his chest and mind.

When he got to her room, he stopped just outside the open door, awestruck at how easily she moved around the room. Wearing a pair of grey knit leggings and an oversized sweater, she was folding the hospital gown she had previously worn. Her hair was also down, clean and shiny, no longer stringy with bits of rubble and dust littered throughout. The bruise surrounding her eye had started to fade, although not much since late last night.

“Are you planning on standing there all day?” she laughed, her head tilted to the side.

Chuckling, he squeezed the back of his neck as he shrugged. “Sorry… I was just -”

“Watching me,” she interrupted.

“Shit, I… I’m so-” Her laugh cut him off, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

“James…” God, it had been so long since someone called him by his given name, and he absolutely loved the way she said it. “It’s okay, I’m used to people watching me. And I just realized how egotistical that sounded.”

Huffing through his nose, he came into the room, standing out of the way. “I know the feeling.”

“Well, enough of that depressing shit,” Y/N said, determination set in her face. “I think it’s time we blow this pop stand.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Bucky and Y/N were walking through Brooklyn Bridge Park, her hand on his elbow, her red and white walking stick  _tap-tap-tapping_  on the concrete at their feet. It was the perfect weather for a leisurely stroll; the sun was high in the sky, but since it was nearing fall, there was a bite of cold in the air, the threat of a rainstorm on the horizon.

“What’cha thinkin’ ‘bout?” she asked, smiling up at him, eyes completely hidden by dark glasses.

“Absolutely nothing,” he admitted, and it was the truth. For the first time in… ever, Bucky wasn’t thinking about a goddamn thing. Not protecting Steve, not HYDRA or the Avengers, not an upcoming mission; nothing, and it felt amazing.

Y/N hummed as she turned away. “You sound a bit surprised at that.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” he said with a shrug of his shoulder.

There were a crowd of kids - surrounded by adults - playing in the grass. The younger ones were giggling adorably and running wild, chasing one another, chubby hands waving through the air, while a few of the older ones had taken notice of Bucky and Y/N, and started staring.

Bucky’s gut reaction was to drop his head and pick up the pace, looking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t being followed, but he didn’t even get the chance to fall into his old habit.

Y/N turned towards the children and waved. “They only stare because they’re curious,” she murmured, making Bucky wonder if she was talking more to ease his unvoiced anxieties, or if it was a mantra she had been using over the years.

“Hey, you want some ice cream,” he blurted out excitedly at the sight of an ice cream cart, the old school kind where there were only five flavors, where the ice cream was hand-churned for hours on end, not mass-produced.

“Ice cream sounds perfect.”

* * *

At your invitation, James agreed to stay for dinner. You had been desperate for a home cooked meal; eating horrible hospital food for the past three days did that to a person. After a quick visit to the grocer down the block, you were in your kitchen, wearing your favorite apron, putting together a simple meal of roasted chicken, green beans, quartered potatoes, and wine.

He had raised an eyebrow when you said you didn’t need any help, you could hear it in his voice. “Are you sure?”

“James,” you chuckled, tying the apron behind your back. “I’m blind, not dead. Now, tell me about yourself.”

While he told you about growing up in Brooklyn, watching after his best friend, playing stick ball, fighting off the bullies in the alleys, the decision to go off to the war, you cooked. It felt easy, being in the same room as him, listening to the smooth timbre of his voice, the familial adoration he had for Steve. But when it came time to talk about the war, about losing his arm, there was a change in him, a change you understood all too well.

“It isn’t easy,” you said gently. “Having something taken from you.”

James huffed as he sat back and took a long drink of wine. “You can say that again.”

You wiped your mouth with a napkin before taking a drink. “Can I ask you a question… about your arm?”

“Sure,” he answered a little too quickly.

“Have you let anyone touch it? And I don’t mean medical staff,” you added.

“No,” James exclaimed, shoving back from the table. “I can’t do that.”

Swallowing thickly and moving deliberately, you stood and held out a hand. “I wasn’t asking if I could, James. It’s not… I can tell  _you’re_  not ready for that. I just… I know what it’s like. You’ve lost a part of you, and the last thing you want to be seen as is different. You want people to treat you the same, even though you aren’t that guy anymore.”

His was was shaking when he said, “Stop, Y/N.”

Surprised when he didn’t step back, you moved toward him, until you could feel his breath on your face. “It doesn’t make you any less of a human being,” you tried reassuring him.

“If you knew the things I’ve done, you wouldn’t say that,” he murmured, the scent of wine heavy on his breath.

With your lips in a small smile, you shook your head. “I don’t care about any of that.”

“I uh… I should go,” James said coolly, taking a step back.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Oh, yeah. I mean… you’ve got better things to do than hang out with some blind chick out of guilt or some crazy sense of duty.”

He grabbed your hand and squeezed. “I’m here because I want to be,” he pledged, his voice once again warm and inviting. “I like being here, with you. It’s nice. It’s just… well, it’s late and you just got out of the hospital and -”

“You’re tired of talking about your arm,” you added. “I get it.”

James chuckled low in his throat. “That, too.”

“Before you go, can I do one more thing?” You raised your hands in front of your face, wiggling your fingers back and forth. “Can I  _see_  you?”

Using his right hand, he placed your hands - one at a time - on either side of his face. You scrunched your nose slightly at the bite of stubble against your palms.

“Tickles,” you breathed, hoping he couldn’t hear your heart pounding in your chest.

The apples of his cheeks pushed into your hands as he smiled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like it.”

With your head tilted to the side, you ran your fingertips over his features, slowly, each swipe of a finger was deliberate and served a purpose; putting an image together in your mind. There was a dimple in his chin, one that became more pronounced when he smiled a certain way that you were sure would make your heart skip a beat. You worked your way up his cheeks, to the sharp angle of his cheekbones that you had no doubt made everyone else jealous. His nose and forehead were next, the worry lines appeared briefly, putting a smile on your lips.

You kept one hand on his face, cupping it in your palm, as you raised the other higher. “May I?”

“Yeah,” was his low answer.

You sank you fingers into his hair, and found you couldn’t keep from sighing as the long, silken strands moved against your skin. With your eyes fluttering shut, you inadvertently scraped your nails along his scalp and swept your thumb over his moustache, dipping it into the cupid’s bow above his lip.

“Doll,” James warned, his hand on your wrist, but it was too late.

You pushed up to your toes and brushed your lips against his, a soft sigh leaving you at the contact. James stood there for a moment, whether out of shock or enjoyment, you didn’t know, but you were about to find out. He stepped back with a low growl of your name.

“I… I’m sorry,” you stammered, fingers over your lips, heart pounding like a jackhammer, ready to jump out of your chest.

“Thank you for dinner,” was all he said. He grabbed his jacket and hat before leaving, slamming the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve came barrelling into Bucky’s room, launching himself across the room, at his friend. The two grappled; Bucky, trying to fight off the man wearing a black mask in his nightmare, and Steve, trying to keep his friend from breaking something, from hurting him, from hurting himself.

“Buck, come on, man,” Steve shouted. “Wake up!”

FRIDAY was there, asking, “Should I alert Doctor Banner, Captain Rogers?”

“I got this,” he snapped.

Bucky whined pitifully in the back of his throat before crying out, “Oprește-te, te rog.”

It was never a good thing when Bucky spoke in Romanian, it meant he was remembering a mission, a hit, a memory so repressed from his Winter Soldier days that his brain couldn’t cope with it while he was conscious. It also meant that Steve had his work cut out for him.

Steve managed to get Bucky’s arms pinned down, though he wasn’t sure how long they would stay there. He reached out and slapped his friend, gritting his teeth at the sting on his fingers. Bucky’s head snapped to the side, and there was a brief moment of silence, but Bucky remained unconscious.

“Shit,” he ground out. He looked around Bucky’s room, seeing if there was something… anything he could use to wake up his friend. It couldn’t be anything that would hurt him, not that Bucky would stay hurt; another perk of being a successful scientific experiment, but Steve drew a line when it came to fulfilling his promise of doing whatever it took to wake the slumbering man.

Jumping up, Steve ran into the bathroom, grabbed a bucket from under the sink, and filled it with cold water. Each second passed agonizingly slow, making it feel like days passed before Steve was able to turn off the water. He grabbed the bucket and hurried back to Bucky’s room, water sloshing over the rim, where Bucky was now thrashing on the bed, the sheets tangled around his legs, the pillow on the floor. Holding his breath, Steve dumped the bucket of water on his friend.

Drenched, eyes wide, and with a scream trapped in his throat, Bucky sat up in bed. He raked a hand over his face and gasped for air.

“Dude,” he panted heavily, glaring up at Steve. “The fuck?”

Steve huffed in irritation. “You’re welcome, jerk.”

* * *

After changing clothes, Bucky lumbered into the common room, finding Steve sitting at the bar, two glasses and a bottle of whiskey in front of him. Steve filled both glasses while Bucky crossed the room and dropped onto the stool next to him. They raised their glasses in silent salute before tossing back the finely aged amber liquid.

Bucky hissed in appreciation. “Jesus, Stark’s got some good taste.”

“Wait, was that  _actually_  a compliment?” Steve joked, nudging Bucky’s arm with his elbow.

“Shut up,” Bucky chuckled. “I uh, I’m sorry, man, ‘bout earlier.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Steve muttered as he poured more whiskey.

Bucky blew out a heavy breath, one that made his shoulders shudder. “I think I fucked up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She kissed me, Steve,” he admitted. “She kissed me and I freaked out.”

It took Steve half of a second to realize who Bucky was referring to. “What kind of freaking out are we talking?”

“Nothing bad, I promise. I just… I thanked her for dinner and walked… no, I stormed out.”

God, he felt like such a jerk. Y/N had just gotten out of the hospital and, rather than take it easy, lounge around for a couple of days, slowly get back into things, she made him dinner. He told Steve what happened, how she sternly told him that his help wasn’t required, that she was fully capable of cooking a meal by herself, how the conversation - and wine - flowed easily before inevitably turning to Bucky’s arm, and how he tried brushing her off, completely unwilling to talk about it.

“I don’t even think she meant to do it,” Bucky murmured. “She was using her hands to ‘see’ me, and it just… it just happened, man.”

Steve refilled Bucky’s glass when it dawned on him. “You haven’t told her who you are, an Avenger, I mean.”

“No,” he agreed. “And I won’t.”

“Come on, Buck. If you really like her, she has a right to know,” Steve tried reasoning with his friend.

Bucky repeated his refusal, more sternly than before. “Because if something goes wrong, if something… someone bad finds out about Y/N -”

“You’ll never forgive yourself,” Steve finished.

“I’m already having a hard time with this forgiveness bullshit when it comes to working for HYDRA. I don’t need any extra guilt.” Bucky clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth after emptying his glass.

Steve sounded disappointed when he asked, “So you’re going to keep lying to her?”

With a shake of his head, Bucky gruffed, “How can I lie to her if I don’t see her?”

“Is that what you really want?” Steve asked carefully.

“No,” was Bucky’s raspy answer. “No, it’s not.”

* * *

After James left, you stood there, hand over your mouth, tears streaming down your face, going over everything that had just happened. You had kissed him, that’s what. You kissed him and he left. He walked out of your apartment, away from you. Because you had kissed him.

Swiping a hand over your face, you groaned. You kissed him because he saved your life, that had to be the reason. That, and you enjoyed his company. The nights he had come to the hospital were some of the best nights you’d had in a very long time. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a genuinely interesting conversation with someone, let alone a member of the opposite sex.

James had been so sweet and unnecessarily apologetic, it should have been crystal clear why he had been there, putting up with your incessant rambling, your words of encouragement, your optimistic view on his battle wounds. He felt bad for you, this poor little blind girl that he had pulled from a crumbling building.

“How could I be so stupid?” you berated yourself, slapping a palm to your forehead.

You wanted to hide, lock your doors and bury yourself under the comforting weight of your blankets until everyone forgot about you. But first, you needed to check in with your manager, figure out what the next step was.

* * *

You had just climbed into bed when your phone rang. It was late and as much as you hated to admit it, you were exhausted, just as James had said. The last thing you wanted to do was answer the phone. But it just kept ringing.

“Hello,” you snapped.

“Y/N,” James murmured, and you wanted to hate yourself for the way your heart stuttered in your chest. You must have been silent for a beat too long. “Please don’t hang up.”

Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to remember that he wasn’t calling because he wanted to hear your voice, he was calling out of duty, out of pity. “What do you want, James?”

He sighed heavily as he - judging by the muffled sound of it - ran a hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I’m sorry.”

_Wait… what?_

“No. No, it’s… it’s fine,” you lied, praying he hadn’t been able to pick up on the way your voice hitched when you were less than honest.

“Wait… what?” he sputtered.

“I crossed a line, I shouldn’t have kissed you. I… I was reading into something that clearly wasn’t there, and it shouldn’t have gotten that far.” Now you were just babbling, verbal vomiting all of your pent-up insecurities onto the nearest person, onto the person that didn’t need to hear it. “Listen, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but you’re off the hook now, James. You have no obligation to be around me any longer.”

Without waiting for him to comment, you hung up the phone and rolled over, turning your back to it, essentially, turning your back to the man that had saved your life. You had spent a total of three days with your gentle savior, it was too soon to be doing something as crazy as falling in love, wasn’t it?

So why did it feel like you had just made the biggest mistake of your life?


	5. Chapter 5

It was the same nightmare Bucky had been having since being deprogrammed; he was fighting against the man in all black, the man that held nothing back, the man that killed without conscience. He was fighting against himself, the Winter Soldier, HYDRA’s best and most-used assassin. But this time, he wasn’t fighting for control or pleading for the killing to stop, he was hunched over a body, Y/N’s body. She was bruised and battered, broken beyond repair, and it was his fault. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t save her life, not a second time.

How could he have saved her from his own worst enemy? How could he have saved her from himself?

He screamed as he sat up in bed, legs tangling in the sheets, drenched in sweat, every muscle taut and ready to snap, but he wasn’t alone. Steve had his arms wrapped around Bucky, clinging to him, comforting him.

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve rasped. “It’s okay.”

Bucky choked on a sob and held onto Steve as if his life depended on it.

Who knew, maybe it did.

* * *

Swallowing around the knot in his throat, Bucky shifted nervously on his feet and knocked on the door, a barely there brush of his knuckles against the painted wood.

“Just a minute,” she called, her voice tight and annoyed.

He stood there and waited, trying to talk himself out of leaving when the grated peep window slid open.

“Who is it?” Wide unseeing eyes scanned his face and he fought the urge to smile and give a small wave.

“It’s me, James,” he announced, wincing at how stupid he sounded.

“Please leave,” Y/N said through gritted teeth. The window slapped shut three seconds before the tell-tale sound of the dead-bolt being thrown echoed in the small space.

He rapped his knuckles against the door. “Y/N, please. I… I  _need_  to talk to you.”

“Need is a mighty strong word there, James.” She sounded so irritated, so done with him that he hung his head.

“Doesn’t make it any less true.” He blew out a heaving sigh that pushed the hair from his face. “But if you really want me to leave…” he waited for a few beats before turning on his heel and walking down the hallway.

“Wait,” she hollered, throwing the locks quickly, wrenching the door open. She stood there, in her bare feet, yoga pants, and faded Metallica t-shirt waiting for him to say something.

* * *

The last person you expected to knock on your door was James, a man whose last name remained a mystery, a man that was invading your thoughts - and dreams - on a consistent basis.

With a cup of hot, freshly brewed tea in your hands, the two of you you were sitting on the couch; James at one end, you occupying the other. You could picture him in your mind, the way he was sitting; arms draped over his thighs, one leg bouncing, his long hair hanging in his face. Your hand itched to touch it, to touch him, but you squeezed the hot cup a little tighter.

“I really am sorry about storming out of here the other day,” he rasped.

Sighing, you shook your head. “I should be apologizing, James. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I obviously read too much into things -”

“But you didn’t,” he interrupted, turning in his seat. “I… I like you, Y/N. You’re smart and funny and so fucking strong. I just… I feel like I’ll only bring you down.”

Untangling your legs, you set the cup on the table. “Why would you think that?” You might have sounded like you were ignoring his admission, but you were just putting it on the back burner for now.

“Because of… this.” He must have pointed to his arm, that’s the only thing that made sense to you.

“James,” you started, sliding your hand across the cushion, searching for his hand or his knee. “How could I think anything less of you because you lost your arm? Me, James, a blind woman. I’ll be blind be for the rest of my life, and you think that  _you_  will bring me down?” Finding his knee, you gave it a squeeze and slid closer.

He sniffled softly before saying, “I come with a shit ton of baggage, Y/N. It… it’s not going to be all sunshine and rainbows.”

“You gotta wade through the storm before you can see the rainbow, James.” God, you almost made yourself gag on that one.

“That was poetic,” he chuckled. He placed his hand over yours and it took everything you had not to sigh contentedly.

Now was the time to let him know you hadn’t ignored his admission.

“I like you, too,” you smiled, resting your atop his.

“Yeah?” he huffed, the shock of your reciprocated feelings taking him by surprise.

“Yeah,” you smirked. Using his knee for leverage, you slid closer, until your leg was pressed firmly against his. Moving slowly, as if you’d scare him, you rested your palm against his cheek.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” you breathed.

James shook his head, sending his beard deeper into your skin. “Don’t stop,” he rasped.

You brushed your thumb over his lips, your nail catching in the small creases of chapped skin, and with your eyes fluttering closed, you kissed him.

* * *

Bucky was grinning from ear to ear when he strolled into the common room at the compound, and of course, Tony was there to see it.

“Ohhhhohoh, what do we have here?” he teased, his eyebrow bobbing up and down.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky waved his hand, as if Tony were a fly he was trying to be rid of. “That’s for me to know -”

“And for me to find out,” Tony interrupted.

In his mission to ignore Tony, Bucky kept walking.

Tony, never one for knowing when to give up, kept at it. “Is it the chick you saved last week?”

“Butt out, Tony,” Steve warned, a fatherly, disapproving scowl on his face.

“What?” Tony had the nerve to look surprised. “Least one of us is gettin’ some.”

Bucky let out a barking laugh. “Oh, please. You’re engaged to Pepper.”

Waving a hand, Tony didn’t let the truth stop him. “You ever find out where she lives?”

“I did,” Bucky growled. “And don’t bother asking.”

“Easy there, tiger,” Tony chuckled, his hands held up in faux defense. “I’m not trying to steal her.”

“You’re putting your nose where it’s not needed, Stark,” Bucky bit out, his eyes flashing dangerously dark.

“I’m just trying -”

“Stop trying, Tony,” Steve interrupted, his hand on Tony’s chest, the arc reactor humming almost silently under his touch, as he stepped between the two men.

Tony rolled his eyes and sighed. “Grumpy old men,” he murmured. “Hollywood should remake that movie, cast you two.” He snorted in amusement as he turned and headed out the door.

“You can’t keep letting him get under your skin,” Steve said.

Bucky snorted in laughter. “That’s not so easy to do considering that’s his whole fucking personality.”

Steve shook his head as he chuckled. “You’re not wrong about that. Now,” he looked around the room to make sure no one was eavesdropping. It was hard enough to get Bucky to talk when it was just the two of them. “How did it go with Y/N?”

Bucky ducked his head as a blush colored his nose and cheeks. “We have a date tomorrow,” he admitted.

“That’s great, Bucky.” Steve clapped his friend on the shoulder, smiling at him warmly. “What do you have planned?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We didn’t really get that far.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, you dog,” Steve joked.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair as he shrugged. “Nah, it’s not like that. I really like her, Steve.”

Steve couldn’t resist poking at Bucky some more. “More than Dot?”

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky said, shoving his elbow into Steve’s ribs.

* * *

God, he was a good kisser. He said it had been a while, but once he got over the initial awkwardness of it… let’s just say that your entire body was thrumming. Things could have escalated beyond kissing and some wandering hands if your hand hadn’t wandered too far along his left shoulder. James pulled back and sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head when you apologized.

“No, doll,” he protested, your chin hooked between his fingers. “It’s just… I need some time.”

You nodded, assuring him that, “There’s no rush on anything, James. I want you to be completely comfortable with me, with yourself.”

“Trust me,” he purred. “I’m plenty comfortable with you.”

An honest-to-goodness giggle spilled from your lips. “Stop it,” you protested weakly.

“I shan’t,” James proclaimed playfully before pulling you in for another heated kiss.

After James left, you fell onto your bed with a breathy gasp. Your lips were still damp, kiss-swollen, and tender from his mouth. The skin around your lips was sensitive to the touch, burned from his whiskers; a small price to pay if it meant he’d never stop kissing you.


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky was standing in the hall, butterflies swarming in his gut, sweat beading on the back of his neck, hand raised to knock on the door. God, he was nervous; more nervous than he’d ever been, including when he signed up to fight for his country.

“She ain’t gonna bite,” he chastised himself. Swallowing thickly, he knocked and took a step back so he wasn’t crowding the doorway.

Y/N sounded chipper as she called out, “Come on in, James.”

The butterflies multiplied as the sound of her voice pulled goosebumps to the surface of his skin, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he did as she said. Y/N had just emerged from the bathroom, wearing a [ ** _simple dress_**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.ifchic.com%2Fen%2Fred-valentino%2F3885-floral-embroidered-sheer-lace-detail-ribbed-mini-dress-black.html%3Futm_source%3Dpolyvore_us%26utm_medium%3Dcpc_desktop%26utm_campaign%3Dday%2Bdresses&t=OWNjODk2MWFhMGZkMGMxYTliYjBhYjYzNjExZTFiMzQ3YzkyODRhYyxMdGIwOFRYTw%3D%3D&b=t%3A6s2aQceExJr0RbQfliwnpg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fstar-spangled-man-with-a-plan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F169859922274%2Fthe-life-thats-chosen-me-six&m=1), her curled hair falling past her shoulders, a small portion secured to the top of her head with several pins, and smelling like lavender.

“God,” he breathed. “You look amazing.”

His compliment brought a blush to her cheeks. “It’s not… too quirky?” she asked with a shrug, turning in a slow circle.

“Not at all,” Bucky said, approaching her, his hand held out, grasping hers. “It’s perfect.”

* * *

The rain started as soon as you stepped out of the restaurant; first as a drop here and there, but it wasn’t more than five minutes before it turned into a fine mist. You and James were a handful of blocks away from your apartment when the skies opened up completely, dropping sheets of cold, fat raindrops to the earth below. The pair of you were drenched in a matter of seconds.

James groaned loudly and shouted his intentions over the roar of rain. He bent over, picked you up, and tore off through the rain. You secured your arms around his neck and pressed your forehead against his slick skin. God, even soused in rain water, he smelled amazing. You could have stayed there all day and night, even soaked and shivering.

Your feet didn’t touch the ground until you were inside the apartment building, outside your door, teeth chattering, hands shaking so bad you had a hard time unlocking the door. The only thing that made access to your home possible was the warmth that seeped into you from Bucky’s hand on your wrist.

Once inside, he tried excusing himself, saying, “I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“James, you’re soaked,” you started, hands shaking at your sides, rain running down your body in rivulets. “And from the sounds of it, the rain isn’t going to lighten up anytime soon. You should stay.”

“I didn’t exactly bring a set of dry clothes,” he chuckled dryly, and you could imagine him running a hand over the back of his neck.

With a sigh, you stepped into his airspace and said, “I want you to stay.”

* * *

“You are about the same size,” she said, referring to her brother, as she set a pair of sweats and t-shirt onto the toilet, along with a large towel for him to dry off with.

Y/N was shuffling around in the kitchen when he emerged from the bathroom, dry, wearing borrowed clothes. She was wearing a pair of low slung yoga pants on her hips and a dark shirt she had no idea was threadbare, and her damp hair was tied in a braid. He felt dirty for not averting his gaze straight away, or for staring at the peaks of her nipples as they strained against the thin material, but he wasn’t doing it out of lust. Okay, not  _only_  out of lust.

He had felt it during dinner, the static across his skin, the fluttering of his heart, the eagerness he felt when she talked, how he wanted to hear everything she had to say, how he wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, feel the silken strands between his fingertips, how he wanted to be with her all the time, until the end of time.

Bucky wasn’t just falling for Y/N, he was in love with her.

“James?” She sounded worried, as if she’d been calling his name for several minutes. “Are you alright?”

Bucky chuckled thickly. “Yeah, yeah,” he lied. “Just… daydreaming I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, settling next to him on the couch, a glass of whiskey in each hand. “About anything in particular?”

He took the glass from her outstretched hand and swallowed it quickly, hissing at the heat in the back of his throat. “You,” he admitted quickly, before he lost the nerve.

Crimson colored her cheeks once again, and it was all he could do not to reach out and cup her face, pull her close and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. That would involve touching her with his hand, the hand made of vibranium, the hand he hated. No, he couldn’t do it.

“You left again,” she noted softly, her hand on his thigh, concern etched in her face.

It was then, sitting next to the woman he loved, genuine worry clouding her brilliant y/c eyes, that he knew what he needed to do. He pulled the cup from her hand and set it on the table, along with his.

“I want to show you something,” he rasped, emotion catching in his throat. “And I… only a handful of people have seen it. It’s not… I don’t…”

Y/N held her hand out, palm up, fingers curled, and said, “It’s okay, James. You can show me.”

“I’m scared,” Bucky admitted, tears stinging his eyes. “I don’t want it to frighten you.”

“Show me, James,” she repeated. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Swallowing around the knot in his throat, Bucky reached up and yanked the shirt over his head, setting it on his thigh as he turned in his seat. With his flesh hand, he grabbed her wrist and turned it so that her fingertips brushed along his flesh-covered vibranium clavicle that had been added to support the weight of the arm.

When her touch broached the thick scars, he sucked in a breath in preparation for her to withdraw her touch, for her to recoil and look at him as if he were a monster, demanding that he leave and never return. But she didn’t.

Y/N gasped as flesh gave way to metal, but her touch did not falter. With her bottom lip between her teeth, she moved her hand around the circumference of his shoulder, the edges and grooves between each plate whirring almost silently as Bucky struggled to remain still when every voice inside his brain was screaming at him, imploring him to leave. He cleared his throat, pushed away the voices, locked them behind a door, and clenched his jaw.

Her touch felt like a spring breeze; delicate and sweet, bringing a thousand memories he thought he had lost to the surface. Bucky tried to keep it together, to not let his mask slip, letting the emotions free. He tried so hard; gnawing on the inside of his cheeks, digging his nails into the palm of his hand, squeezing his thigh so hard he’d be sporting bruises, but nothing worked. When Y/N’s finger worked over his knuckles and fingers, tracing each plate gently, as if she would hurt him, the dam broke, and so did Bucky.

“I… I’m sorry,” he choked, hiding his face behind a hand, bending his neck as if he were curling in on himself.

Y/N tangled her fingers with his metal ones and pressed a kiss to his crown. “No, James,” she rasped. “You have no reason to be sorry.”

He wanted to tell her he had every reason to be sorry, to admit all of his atrocities to her, every name of every person he had slaughtered, how he remembered them all, how they looked at him in that last second when the light dimmed in their eyes. The words were smothered by the sobs that shook him, the sobs that he had somehow been able to keep hidden. He didn’t hear the words of comfort she whispered as she took him into her arms, he didn’t feel the kisses she pressed to his face as he pulled her onto his lap, his arms tight around her, clinging to her as if his life depended on it.

Who knew, maybe it did.

* * *

You didn’t know how long the two of you had been sitting on the couch, James’ arms tight around you, his face buried in your neck, your hands in his hair, on his heaving back. All you knew was that James had trusted you enough to show you the part of him that he hated, he trusted you enough to let you touch it, the foreign object that he despised with every ounce of his being. In trusting you, the wound that had been buried, pushed out of his thoughts, the wound he tried so hard to forget was ripped wide open. James was vulnerable, scared, and he needed you.

Was it a complete and total surprise, the fact that his arm wasn’t the stereotypical material used for a prosthetic? Yes, but it made no difference to you. You had already come to the conclusion that you were falling in love with the man that had saved your life, and nothing could change your mind; not even a metal arm. Besides, you had your own disability. Who were you to judge?

When the tears stopped and James’ shoulders stopped heaving, you scraped your nails along his scalp and sat back. There were a million things you wanted to say, but you didn’t give one of them a voice. Instead, you brushed your nose along his and pressed your lips to his. They were clammy and covered in dried tears.

James hesitated for just a moment, a moment that you knew was shock. He had expected you to turn away and send him on his way; the last thing he thought you would do was accept him. A sigh left him as he opened his mouth to you, your tongue having tasted the tears on his bottom lip. His kisses were demanding, desperate, rapacious, as was his touch. James’ hands were on your back, hips, and ass, tugging you into him, rocking his hips with yours.

The push and pull of his hands, his body, his tongue, stoked a fire deep in your belly, a fire that had been a dull flicker for too long, a fire that you wanted to feel everyday for the rest of your life. You straddled his lap and pushed your knees into the couch, mirroring the way his body moved, moaning low and heavy at his arousal as it twitched between your bodies.

You pulled back and gasped for air, every nerve felt like the end of a live wire, looking for someone to shock. Wearing a smirk, you untangled yourself from his grip and stood off to the side, your hand stretched out. You could hear James swallow as he gripped your hand and stood, following you to your room where once the door was closed, you pulled off your shirt.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony was waiting for Bucky in the common room, standing behind the bar, drinking a gross shake that Pepper had suggested, waiting for him to return to the compound, return from seeing his girlfriend, the one Bucky only talked about with Steve. It had been several weeks since Bucky’s first walk of shame; wearing the same clothes from the night prior, a smile tugging at his lips. Tony was happy for Buck, he really was, but he was also nosy, too nosy for his own good. He wasn’t getting anywhere by asking questions, so he did the next best thing; he tapped into FRIDAY and eavesdropped on a conversation between the two super soldiers, and one tidbit of information had caught Tony’s attention, sparking his creative juices.

Just as Tony was about to give up, head over to the gym, train with Clint, Bucky shuffled through the door, hand rubbing at an eye, yawning.

“Hey, old man,” Tony joked, rinsing out the glass. “Out past your bedtime again, huh?”

Bucky chuckled as he came to a stop across from Tony. “Didn’t realize I had to check in with you.”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Tony waved a hand through the air. “Just… curious as to who is on the receiving end of your affections, that’s all.”

“It’s Y/N,” he admitted after several long moments. “The woman that… she was… trapped, in that building.”

“Ohhhhh, I remember her,” Tony laughed. “You two must be getting along great.”

With his eyes narrowed, Bucky nodded his head. “We are. Where are you going with this, Tone?”

“Not sure what you mean,” Tony lied expertly.

“Come on, Stark,” Bucky huffed. “I’m old, not stupid. You don’t show interest in something, in someone, unless it benefits you in some way. So… spill it.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. I… overheard you and Steve -”

“You mean you hacked into FRIDAY,” Bucky interrupted, brow arched, unamusement thick on his tongue.

“It’s not really hacking since I created the software,” Tony argued before getting down to business. “She’s blind, has been since she was a teenager, right?”

Bucky bit back the smart ass comment on the tip of his tongue. “She is.”

“I’ve been working on something that -”

“No, Tony,” Bucky barked, turning on his heel and striding across the room.

Tony sprinted after Bucky. “I can restore her sight, Buck. I can fix her.”

Bucky stopped so suddenly that Tony almost slammed into his back. “Say that again,” he seethed, teeth clenched, hands balled into fists, chest heaving.

“I can restore her sight?” he tried, knowing he had said the wrong thing.

“No, not that,” Bucky growled as he turned to face Tony.

Tony gulped loudly and forced a smile. “I didn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with being blind,” he tried to diffuse the situation. “I just meant -”

“There’s nothing to  _fix_ , Tony.”

“Of course not, that’s not… Bucky, that’s not what I meant,” Tony backpedaled as fast as he could.

Bucky’s hands were tightly clenched, the muscles twitching with the urge to smack the man before him senseless. Rather than do that, he pulled in one ragged breath, then another, and one more for good measure.

“What  _did_  you mean?”

“If you were in her shoes, blind, the chances of your sight returning being slim to none… if someone approached you and offered you the possibility to see again, what would you say?” Tony held his breath as he watched Bucky mull it over. Only when Tony was about to gasp for air, Bucky answered.

“Someone did that to me,” Bucky growled, holding up his metal hand just in case it had somehow slipped Tony’s memory.

The self-proclaimed playboy shook his head. “They didn’t  _ask_  permission.”

“When you put it that way,” he murmured, raking a still-shaking hand through his hair.

He couldn’t believe he was actually thinking of bringing it up with Y/N. She wasn’t broken, she didn’t need to have her sight restored for Bucky to love her; he already did that, he thought she was perfect the way she was. Most importantly, her disability didn’t bother her, didn’t hinder her as she went about her life. She was confident enough, loved herself enough, enough to make Bucky wonder if he could ever feel that way about himself.

There was a split second where Tony thought Bucky was going to reach out and send a metal fist through Tony’s face, but when Bucky didn’t make a movie, Tony cleared his throat.

“So… you’re not gonna kick the shit outta me?”

“I haven’t made up my mind,” Bucky snapped before turning away and heading up the stairs.

* * *

You were lying next to James, pressed into his side, head on his chest, hand drawing lazy and nonsensical patterns on his stomach and ribs. He would flinch every once in a while, but you figured it was because it tickled, judging by the way he huffed lightly. Pushing up to your elbow, you rested your hand on his cheek, turning his face to kiss him gently. With his hand tangled in your hair, James hummed against your lips.

“Is, uh… is everything okay, James?” you asked tentatively.

He had seemed… off from the moment he came into your home, wrapped you in his arms, and worshipped your body as if it were the last time the two of you would be together. You couldn’t admit it at the time, thanks to being preoccupied, but you felt it then, cold and sharp, in the pit of your stomach, bubbling up into your chest, wrapping around your heart; fear. You were afraid that he was going to leave you.

James cleared his throat before answering. “Right as rain, doll,” he rasped. “Wh- why do you ask?”

There it was, the hesitation in his answer that only served to fuel the anxiety in your chest. You swallowed around the knot in your throat. “You’ve been preoccupied all night.”

“Well, not  _all_  night,” he smirked, a sensual lilt to his voice.

You couldn’t get a grip on what you wanted to say, which question you wanted him to answer first. “Is it… are we… am  _I_  -”

He was sitting up and kissing away your words, his hands on your face, your hands on his wrists. “Doll, there is nothing wrong with you, with us. I promise.” James kissed the spot between your eyes.

“Then what’s going on in here?” you inquired, tapping a finger against his temple.

James blew out a heavy breath as he sat back against the headboard, pulling the blanket over his lap. “It’s nothing much… just… there’s this guy I work with, and he… shit, this is hard.”

“You can tell me anything, you know that,” you assured him, smiling gently. You followed suit and covered yourself with a blanket.

“I should probably start at the beginning,” he chuckled wryly.

It took longer than you thought it would, but that might have something to do with the fact that James was born in 1917. He told you everything about his childhood, growing up with Steve Rogers - yes,  _that_  Steve Rogers, enlisting in The War, and being captured behind enemy lines.

“Steve saved my ass,” James huffed in amusement, but that was where the laughs ended.

He went on to tell you about falling off a speeding train while on a mission, how he miraculously survived, only to have his body destroyed and repaired, how his mind was torn apart, obliterated, his memory erased as they poked and probed, reprogramming the grey matter, turning him into a killer, turning him against his best friend.

You grabbed his hand and squeezed, giving him your silent support. Knowing there was more to the story, you sat there, waiting until he was ready to continue. Several long moments passed, moments that were filled with him clearing his throat, trying to rid the emotion from his voice.

His voice continued to shake as he went on, admitting that he was with the Avengers, working side by side with the son of Howard Stark, the same man that helped Steve Rogers become Captain America, the same man that helped found S.H.I.E.L.D, the same man that he killed in cold blood.

“I wasn’t a good man,” James murmured thickly. “But I’m trying to make up for it, I am. I would never hurt you, ever,” he rambled, his anxiety growing worse.

Your heart was racing as fast as your thoughts were. The man you loved with everything you had was James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes, previously known as the Winter Soldier, HYDRA’s puppet. He had been merciless and without remorse, killing without a second thought, without a care in the world of any repercussions. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever imagine that you would be sitting there, naked, in your bed, with a man that was 100 years old, a man that aged much slower than you.

Clearing your throat, you did your best to turn off your brain. “I trust you, James, implicitly.”

And you did, because he wasn’t  _James_  during those years, he was the Winter Soldier, super soldier, assassin. The man before you wasn’t the one he feared, the one that plagued his subconscious, that made him scream out in his sleep. Though, he hadn’t had one nightmare since the first night he stayed over. That was something you kept to yourself, something you wanted to bring up to Steve, whenever you got the chance to meet him.

“So… this guy you work with,” you started, wondering if James would remember how the conversation started.

James chuckled then sniffled. “Tony, yeah… he uh… he came up to me this morning, said he might have something… to help… your sight.”

“Oh, okay,” you muttered, your heart heavy, your face calling.

You should have known better; it always came to this, someone thinking your disability made you less than what you were, that they needed to fix what was - most definitely not - broken. You moved to stand, to pull on the clothes that had been ripped off several hours ago, but James’ hands were on your shoulders, effectively stopping you.

“Baby, no,” he choked out. “I told him no, straight outta the gate, that there’s nothing wrong with you, that you’re not something… someone that needs fixing. Please… please don’t think that,” he begged, voice thick and heavy, needy, tugging at you.

Shaking your head, you sniffled loudly. “Maybe… maybe this isn’t going to work.” God, that was hard to say. The words left a bitter taste on your tongue, acrid, powerful, sour.

James refused to release you, his fingers digging into your flesh. “No, that’s not… please. I love you, Y/N, so much. Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I told him…”

“No,” you interrupted, finishing his sentence.

“That’s right,” he sighed.

You willed your heart to slow down its rapid pace. “If you told Tony no, and you love me the way I am, why did you bring it up?”

There was a long pause before James answered your question. “Because… well, we had never talked about it, the possibility of someone coming up with some new technology.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but he didn’t let you get a word in.

“Yes, I know, your parents and doctors tried everything they could think of, and you’re accepting of it, of your disability. I just… if I could get rid of this,” he slid the vibranium hand down your arm, tangling your fingers together, “and get a flesh one, I would.”

Would you be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it, regaining your sight, living a whole new life? Yes. You still wanted to tell him no, that there was no way in hell you were going to even think about the proposition, but then your brain replayed his words.

_”If I could get rid of this, I would.”_

Squeezing his hand, you said, “I’ll think about it.”


	8. Chapter 8

Everyone that you met at the compound was amazing, and sweet, and caring, and understanding. The best part of all? They didn’t treat you like you were blind; mumbling apologies when they smiled and nodded upon introductions, or when they said anything along the lines of  _”I’ll see you later.”_  You found yourself wanting to stick around for a while, hang out in the life that James was blazing a trail through. The last couple of months had been wonderful, just the two of you, no onlookers, no outside influences. It was time for that to change.

You weren’t going to lie, the meeting with Tony was a bit… okay, extremely overwhelming. He used a lot of big words and terminologies that you didn’t understand, but he sat patiently when you asked a thousand and one questions, using smaller phrases, words that you were comfortable with, words that didn’t seem cold and distant.

While he answered your latest question, another one popped into your head, drowning out his voice, clamoring for your attention. The question was morbid and chilled you to the core, but you had to ask it, give it a voice before you did something stupid or embarrassing, such as throwing up all over the floor.

“Could it kill me?” you rasped, the knot in your throat overwhelming and painful.

“A’course it won’t,” James interjected before Tony could answer. “Right, Stark?”

Tony shifted in his seat. “Well, I mean, there is always that risk.”

“What?” James barked, hand squeezing yours tight, too tight. “I thought you said it was safe.”

“I said relatively safe, Sarge,” Tony clarified. “There’s a difference.”

“No, it’s not happening,” James refused, standing suddenly, pulling you from your chair. He was in his fight or flight mode, and right now, he wanted to get the hell out of that room, and away from Tony.

It was quite the effort, but you managed to dislodge your hand from his.

“Just… just wait,” you said under your breath. “Tony, have you completed this operation successfully?”

Tony must not have liked being the only person in the room that was sitting, because the chair squeaked as he stood, coming around the desk, and standing in front of you. “I have, on rats.”

Okay, that was something. “And with those trials, what was the mortality rate?”

“Doll, you can’t actually be thinking about going through with this,” James whispered harshly.

“Thirty percent,” Tony answered, an eager lilt to his voice.

Seventy percent was by far the highest survival rate you’d heard. “How soon would the operation take place?”

“No,” James growled as he took hold of your hand once again.

Tony moved closer to you, close enough that you could feel his breath on your face, smell his expensive cologne. “As soon as you’re ready. Today, if you wanted.”

James spun you around and pulled in a heaving breath. “There’s a thirty percent chance you won’t make it, Y/N. I… I can’t lose you, not now, not when I just found you.”

His words drove tears to your eyes and made your heart stutter. “I want to do this, and even though you don’t trust Tony, I do.” You pushed up to your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You won’t lose me, James.”

“I better not,” he said, the not so subtle threat adding a darkness to his voice.

* * *

The wait was killing him. How long did Tony say it would take? Three, four hours tops. A quick look at the clock on the wall let Bucky know that hour five had just passed agonizingly slow. He shoved himself out of the chair and started pacing, his hand driving through his hair, anxiety ripping him apart from the inside out, scratching at his skin, desperate to get out.

Would the surgery be a success? What if it wasn’t, would Y/N be disappointed? Would  _Bucky_  be disappointed? If it was a success, she would be in a world she wasn’t familiar with, a world full of new sights, a world she would want to explore. Would she stick around, stay with him despite his glaring disability; his vibranium arm?

The air was thick, tangible, almost like Bucky could feel it slithering against his skin, as it wormed its way into his nose and mouth, smothering him. His lungs were on fire when Steve came around the corner. Steve’s eyes were wide, full of concern as Bucky felt the ground shift under his feet, making the super soldier stumble over his own feet. Steve caught Bucky in his arms and drug him down the corridor, out the side door, away from compound, and he didn’t stop until the looming building was out of sight, until they were surrounded by the lush, tall grass.

“I… I can’t… I can’t breathe,” Bucky stammered, gasping for air that wasn’t coming.

Steve grabbed Bucky and pulled him into a tight hug, a hug that made both men grunt. “It’s okay, Buck. Just close your eyes and focus. Focus on Y/N, her laugh, the way it makes you feel when you’re holding her, kissing her. Come on, man,” Steve pleaded, working hard to keep the fear from his voice.

Steve hated seeing his friend in pain, especially after the progress he had been making. It had been almost a month since Bucky’s last nightmare, a month since Steve had to convince Bucky that he was free, that the Winter Soldier was no longer a problem, that Bucky - despite being an Avenger and having just turned 100 - could live a somewhat normal life. Y/N had done all of that.

Focusing on the way Y/N made him feel made it easier for Bucky to breathe. It wasn’t easy by any means, but he closed his eyes and did as instructed. It was the sight of her, in bed, hair surrounding her head like a halo, skin flushed, unseeing eyes staring at him, piercing into his heart, into his soul, her unfaltering love for him… that’s what drove away the anxieties.

Swallowing thickly, Bucky clapped Steve on the back. “Thanks, man,” he murmured, wiping the tears from his face as they parted.

“She’ll be fine, Buck, and so will you.”

Bucky wanted to ask what Steve meant, but the phone in his pocket chirped. It was a message from Tony; Y/N was out of surgery and she was resting comfortably.


	9. Chapter 9

The first time you opened your eyes and didn’t find yourself in complete darkness was ten days after the surgery, and damn, did it take your breath away. Literally. Tony had to pinch your shoulder in order for you to breathe again.

Your brain had a hard time recognizing certain things, mainly because you had never seen them before; a cell phone that looked liked it belonged in the future, the thin laptops and tablets people used instead of the clunky computers you remembered.

It was overwhelming and beautiful at the same time. But nothing was more exquisite than James Buchanan Barnes.

He sat there, perched on the edge of your bed, brows furrowed, eyes like the goddamn ocean, sparkling like diamonds under the sun, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his beard the same rich chestnut coloring as his hair. Tears filled your eyes as you huffed a laugh, the breath catching painfully in your lungs.

“Hi,” you murmured, eyes darting over his features, one hand caressing his face.

James chuckled before turning to press a kiss to your palm. “Hi, you,” he breathed, lips and whiskers whispering against your sensitive skin.

Tony interrupted the pair of you just as you were about to kiss, citing the urgency of checking your vision, making sure everything had healed properly. Two hours and many tests later, James was climbing into your bed and kissing you breathless.

* * *

Two weeks sped past, and before you knew it, you were spending every waking - and sleeping - moment at the Avengers compound. You quickly became an unofficial member of the group, the one that had no powers, but you weren’t alone in that. Sam and Clint took you ‘under their wings,’ as it were, joking about finally having someone else that hadn’t been enhanced because of some super secret serum or an unauthorized, off the grid experimentation.

It was easy and fun, and for the first time in a very long time, you felt like you belonged.

And then the headaches started. They weren’t bad, not at first. They started out as small jolts of pain in your temples and behind your eyes, and small black dots would dance in your vision. You didn’t say anything to anyone about it, because the last thing you wanted was for Bucky to worry. So you went about whatever you were doing, willing the pain to stop, for the dots to disappear, and after several long moments, they did just that.

* * *

You were standing in aisle of a bookstore, staring in awe at the amount of books that, if you wanted them, Tony would buy them all - thanks to the black AmEx card in your purse, and you could actually read them, not with your fingers, using braille, not by listening to an audio book, or having someone read them to you, but with your newly-restored vision. You were more than ready to devour them.

With your bottom lip between your teeth, you reached out for a book, the one that had a lovely plum spine with the title in silver lettering. Just as your fingers brushed along the spine, pain erupted behind your eyes, driving you to your knees, making you cry out in agony. There was a moment of complete silence before the concerned shouts of people roared in your ears.

_“Ma’am, are you okay?”_

_“Someone call 911!”_

_“What happened?”_

_“Is that lady crying because she fell?”_

Someone was next to you, their hand on your shoulder, fingers sweeping back and forth. “Tell me what you need, sweetie,” the unseen woman said gently.

“I… I don’t… I can’t…” Your eyes fluttered open slowly, painfully, but it wasn’t what you saw that made your heart drop, it was what you didn’t see.

* * *

Tony stood between Y/N’s legs, a penlight in his hand, sweeping it back and forth, watching her irises, waiting for a reaction that would never come. He huffed and squeezed the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

“It’s gone, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice raw from screaming and crying at the bookstore.

“I need to do a scan, run some tests,” Tony said, knowing damn well what the results of those tests would be.

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Don’t lie to me, Tony,” she pleaded. “I can handle the truth.”

He pulled in a ragged breath. “I would really like to do a scan, see if there’s something I missed. Maybe the technology was faulty. I could have overlooked something small, something that would take almost no time to fix.”

“Tony Stark, miss something?” Y/N chuckled. “You’re too goddamn smart for your own good. No, you didn’t miss anything.”

Tony shook his head and stared at her, amazed at how well she was taking it, losing her sight, again. “How are you so calm about this?”

“I was blind for half of my life,” she explained. “It might not be the way I wanted things to go, but it’s the life that’s chosen me. Getting upset about it isn’t going to make it better.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony apologized as he squeezed her hand.

With a smile, she shook her head. “Don’t be. You gave me the best gift I could have ever asked for, Tony.”

“God, Barnes is a lucky guy,” he laughed. He stepped back and grabbed the walking cane she had used the day of her surgery.

“Damn right he is.” Y/N winked at him as she stood, accepted her cane, and unlocked it.

* * *

With Steve’s assistance, you found James in the common room, nursing a glass of aged whiskey. He was wrapping his arms around you and kissing your hair half a second later. Steve excused himself quietly, knowing the two of you needed to talk.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his breath hot on your face.

“I’m fine, James,” you answered simply.

“So… you can see?” You could feel his eyes on you, scanning your face, darting back and forth between your eyes as if he were trying to dive into your pupils and  _see_  what had gone wrong.

Wincing at the residual pain behind your eyes, you shook your head. “No,” was your breathy response.

He sounded slightly confused when he asked, “You’re okay with it?”

“Of course I am. Like I told Tony, I’ve been blind since I was fifteen, that’s just about half of my life, James. If I was meant to see, the surgery would have been a success. Besides, can’t have you being the only disabled one in this relationship,” she joked.

James’ lips were on yours, the kiss was brief and sweet. “God, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”


End file.
